


Taking Bets

by windandthestars



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 06:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13335099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: They take bets. It starts with sports, he and Sloan arguing over top of Mac's head, her eyes on the two of them instead of the game.





	Taking Bets

**Author's Note:**

> Someone should go spelunking in my WIP folder. I keep finding stuff after I swear there's nothing else salvageable in there. Here's a one-shot I wrote right after season two aired (possibly meant as a less angsty take on 'Call it Your 2.0'?). No spoilers or warnings, just a bit of sassy fun.
> 
> Mac's outfit, if I recall correctly, was inspired by [this one](https://www.instagram.com/p/ef14NfI7VA/).

They take bets, always on little things, always with trivial consequences. It starts with sports, he and Sloan arguing over top of Mac's head, her eyes on the two of them instead of the game. There's a certain dedication with him, and an element of emotion with Sloan that leads to the disagreements, that lead to the bets, arbitrary predictions that turn out to be right. It bugs him. He ups the stakes: running errands, cleaning, reshelving the books Mac keeps sorting by color. He loses more than he wins. Sloan's not playing by the numbers and that confuses him.

Eventually Mac wants in on the game. Their bickering has become predictable, less entertaining. She sides with him. She sides with Sloan. Her decisions have no basis in fact. She wins. She loses. There are no consequences for her: he takes out the trash, Sloan picks up the dry cleaning.

Sloan, Will knows, likes watching Mac try and puzzle it out. She sides with him when they've had a bad run at work. She sides with Sloan when the stats she's spewing at him stop making sense. 

Sloan’s the one that goads Mac into betting on other things: Jim's reply to a made up headline, the weather, Will's response to finding them under the covers giggling like schoolgirls.

Mac's cautious at first, but it quickly becomes a game between them. Sloan shows up to work one day with a new pair of shoes, Mac comes in two weeks later with lose curls framing her face. It's makeup, shoes, and free coffee. It's milkshakes, bad movies, and color-coded post-its with dates and reminders.

It's not something he understands, new kitchen appliances and lunch dates, but he likes to watch them gloat and whine. It's become part of the game now, this little dance, winning and losing. 

Sloan had learned early on that she didn't have to pick the right answer, the best answer, she just had to make sure Mac picked one she knew was wrong. Nobody won, but she didn't loose either. Mac on the other hand was too stubborn to give up; she wanted to win. She wanted something, even something this trivial, to lord teasingly over her.

Sloan let her win occasionally. She would cook the three of them dinner and Mac would fall asleep halfway through whatever romcom it was she wanted to watch. He would turn on the game and he and Sloan would bicker until the volume of the argument woke Mac and the movie resumed.

It was a comfortable concession, despite the romcom, one he didn't mind all that much so he's never let on to Mac that maybe she might want to pay a bit more attention to the bets she was making. He's never let on because there are afternoon like these when he shows up at Sloan's to find Mac sitting outside on the stoop, pouting.

"I hate her," Mac grumbles, holding out a hand so he can pull her to her feet. "She forgot her phone. I think it's at the office because she's been up there forever and I've been sitting here."

Sloan hadn't forgotten her phone. She'd been texting him for the last ten minutes telling him to move it or he was going to miss the present she'd left for him by the front door. He'd had a hard time finding parking as usual, something he really needed to talk to Sloan about when Mac wasn't frowning at him so intently.

"We have to go out for lattes before she'll let me take this off."

This, happened to be a very adorable getup, but he can tell it's making her uncomfortable. It’s trendy and form-fitting in a way that’s foreign to her. Boot cut jeans with a tattered knee, a tight golden yellow shirt peeking out from under a short gray sweatshirt, a fedora set jauntily on her head. The leather bag and the yellow suede heels are familiar, but the bits of skin, the exposed calves and forearms, the curves so carefully outlined, they were Sloan's doing.

"You look beautiful." He smiles, tugging her closer, the pout fading a little.

"I look ridiculous. There are holes in my pants."

He traces the outline of a rip in the seam halfway up the outside of her thigh and instead of a protesting whine, she gives a little sigh, leaning closer.

"And that teasing bit of yellow." There's skin under there, smooth and warm, perfect for butterfly kisses and playful nips. He whispers in her ear, fingers pressed against her ribs, and she shivers, warm, eyes darkening.

His lips brush her jaw and pouting wine-colored lips. She sighs again, mumbling something and in his pocket his phone vibrates, _Sloan_ , as the front door of the brownstone slams shut. Mac stumbles back cursing as Sloan smirks over her head at him, her fingers tangled in the back of Mac's sweatshirt.

"No making out until after coffee. That's part of the deal."

"No it’s not." Mac's glaring now.

"You have to wear the clothes out before you can take them off." Will deduces and Sloan shrugs, _what do you want from me?_

"But I want them off, Billy, please." Mac's fixed her puppy dog eyes on him and as hard as they are to resist, he knows better then to defy Sloan. He doesn't need his next bet to end with him on his knees scrubbing the kitchen floor.

"I'll buy you a pastry and whisper dirty things in your ear while you glare at Sloan and she kicks me under the table. When my shin feels like it's going to be bruised for the rest of eternity, I’ll take you home and help you take off every last stitch."

"Every last stitch?"

"Except for the hat."

"Fuck the hat. Fuck me."

He half expects her to hop up and down in the middle of the sidewalk, throw a tantrum, but she follows along when he wraps his arm around her waist and gestures to Sloan. "I'm not suggesting we break the rules, but iced coffee-"

"Will." It's a warning from Sloan.

"We're out in public on the sidewalk. We'll go have coffee. I'll take off Mac's clothes. She'll put them back on and I'll take you both out to dinner. She'll stop whining, I'll stop whining, and you'll have won whatever bet it was you two made before I got here."

“Bet?” Sloan’s aiming for confused, and while she almost pulls it off there’s a sparkle in her eye that suggests he’s not far from the truth. “What bet?”


End file.
